Wind Guide You
by SundayWinterChild
Summary: An Imperial soldier on the run in Skyrim has no idea just how upside down her life is about to become when she is caught up in an ambush alongside none other than Ulfric Stormcloak himself. OC x Ulfric Stormcloak
1. Prologue

Prologue

It had been a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. When Alessia had stopped at Darkwater Crossing for the night and asked the group of soldiers there if they would mind sharing their fire with her, she'd never imagined that it would end as it had.

"I said, next prisoner!"

The order snapped Alessia out of her stunned silence and finally allowed her to take her eyes off the headless body that lay next to the chopping block. For one insane moment she wondered why on earth she couldn't go to her death as calmly and bravely as the man before her.

"To the block, prisoner. Nice and easy," A Nordic voice prodded at Alessia, prompting her to step forward on trembling legs that were threatening to collapse beneath her.

Onward she stumbled slowly until the headsman seized her with hard and callused hands, roughly forcing her onto her knees and bent her head to the block. The barely kept in check panic that she'd been feeling threatened to bubble over when she discovered that the blood left behind from the previous victim of the Empire's justice was still warm. She locked her eyes on her executioner; the thought of looking into the dead eyes of the head in the basket was unbearable.

Somewhere in her frazzled mind, a voice was whispering that she should be praying to the Eight (or was it the Nine, like her aunt had told her?) for forgiveness, but the words of prayers learned in childhood were long forgotten and refused to spring to her lips.

As the executioner hoisted his heavy axe, Alessia squeezed her eyes shut, forcing tears from her eyes that ran down her cheeks and splashed down to mingle with the blood on the block. Her muscles tensed as she braced herself for the fall of the axe.

But it never came.

What did happen, however, wasn't much of an improvement on her current situation.

All around her she heard the suddenly panicked shouts and shrieks of onlookers and prisoners which made her open her eyes in time to see a massive black dragon perched on one of Helgen's keeps. It's glittering ebony eyes seemed to peer into her own, studying her, before releasing a roar that seemed to bring the very heavens down upon them. Blazing boulders crashed from the sky, shattering upon hitting the ground and setting the thatched roofs of the houses on fire.

Alessia, not wasting a moment further, tried to quickly jump to her feet but with her hands tied she lost her balance and landed face first in the dirt. Before she had a chance to try again, she felt herself being grabbed and set on her feet. "Move it if you want to live, Imperial!" a gruff voice shouted to her over the tumult around them.

Now sprinting and vaulting over any obstacles in her way, Alessia ducked into the door of the keep she was being directed to and took one last look over her shoulder at the scene of devastation. She was rewarded with the sight of the executioner losing his own head in the snapping jaws of the dragon before the man beside her slammed the door shut, blocking her view.

Catching her breath, she looked around and saw that aside from herself and the man who had picked her up off the ground, the one named Ulfric and two others that had been at Darkwater Crossing had managed to make it into the keep. For a moment, there was nothing but stunned silence as they all struggled to get past disbelief.

"That's impossible... Dragons are a legend!" one Stormcloak finally managed spit out.

Ulfric cast a cool look in the direction of the soldier and simply said, "Legends don't burn down villages." Turning his attention back to the others, the Jarl then snapped, "Ralof, we need to move now!"

None of them needed telling twice and Ralof instantly suggested that they all head up the stairs, although in truth the only place this could take them would be the top of the tower, out in the open and very vulnerable to attack from flying formerly mythical beasts. However, because it was their only real plan, no one questioned it and they made a run for it.

As her feet slapped against the cold stone steps, Alessia became acutely aware that the tower was starting to quake. Upon reaching the halfway point, the outer wall suddenly burst in, sending rubble flying and part of the upper floor crashing down to block the rest of the way. The gaping hole was then filled with the dragon's snapping maw, eager to tear into whatever it could. A rage-filled roar shook the tower causing a more debris to shower down on them. A gout of fire burst from the dragon's mouth, making the tower feel like an oven. Letting out a shriek, Alessia managed to turn away in time to avoid the worst of the blaze, but she was certain she could smell singed hair as she stumbled down the steps and bumped into Ralof.

Stunned by the attack, the others further down the steps stood motionless until the other Stormcloak announced, "Jarl Ulfric! Follow me!" before ushering the Jarl of Eastmarch towards the door to make their escape that way. Just before disappearing through the door, Ulfric cast one look back at Ralof and Alessia, their eyes meeting briefly as he gave a nod of farewell.

"We need to go now, Imperial!" Ralof shouted, snapping Alessia back to the here and now.

"Alessia!" she shouted back. "My name is Alessia!"

"Your name won't matter one whit if you end up a pile of char!" Ralof growled as he shoved her in the direction of the hole left by the dragon attack. "Now jump through to that house there if you want to live!"


	2. Chapter 1

The massive, ancient doors of the Palace of the Kings creaked as they swung open, sending an icy gust of wind and snow swirling into the grand hall, announcing Alessia's arrival. Stepping inside, she shook off the snow that had been clinging to her cloak and watched it melt in an instant as it touched the floor. The guards wasted no time in shutting the doors behind her as soon as she cleared the threshold. The warmth of the Palace of the Kings was a blessed relief after travelling through the bitter cold that seemed to grip all of Eastmarch. Although she had grown up in the foothills of the Jerall Mountains, Alessia had never known cold so biting.

Pushing back the fur-trimmed hood of her cloak, Alessia was too busy taking in her surroundings to notice the guards either side of the door giving her suspicious looks. It wasn't entirely unusual for people to turn up unannounced for an audience with the Jarl, but with the civil war raging and emotions running high, the Windhelm guards were more wary of these petitioners than ever.

With a hand now lightly resting on the hilt of his sword, one of the guards said, "If you have business with the Jarl, proceed."

Alessia's head snapped to her right, instantly noticing the subtle warning that the guard was giving her. Deciding that standing here gawping like a simpleton was probably not in her best interest, she nodded to the guard and started to walk the length of the great hall. Her footsteps echoed off the ancient stones, sounding lonely and lost in the flickering gloom of the tallow torches and oil burning lamps overhead. For a moment, Alessia almost wished that she'd brought Vilkas along with her. The Companion had a surprising appreciation for history and grand architecture. Undoubtedly he would be fascinated by the Palace of the Kings' ties with Ysgramor.

But history was not the reason why she had travelled the long distance from Whiterun.

In fact, the reason for her visit had just climbed the steps to his throne and seemed to be making an impassioned speech to a man wearing a bear skin. From where she was, it was little more than an echo, but as she drew nearer, the gist of what the Jarl was saying became apparent.

"I fight for my people impoverished to pay the debts of an Empire too weak to rule them, yet brands them criminals for wanting to rule themselves! I fight so that all the fighting I've already done hasn't been for nothing. I fight... because I must."

Alessia watched as the Jarl's shoulders almost seemed to droop at the end as if the weight of the world were upon them. Of course this wasn't far from the truth; the fate of Skyrim hung in the balance of war, a war that he had started. Should the Empire win, the Thalmor would undoubtedly swoop in to deliver the harshest of punishments for those who dared defy them.

"Your words give voice to what we all feel, Ulfric. And that's why you will be High King," said the other man in his gruff, weathered voice. It was then his turn to express, albeit minutely, his worry about what the future might hold for them. With an almost imperceptible shrug, he added, "But the day words are enough will be the day when soldiers like us are no longer needed."

Ulfric's brow furrowed as he considered the words of his closest and most loyal friend before he heavily sat upon his throne. With a slow, sad nod he said, "I would gladly retire from the world were such a day to dawn."

And it was true. Ulfric had seen more than his fair share of fighting and wars to last a dozen lifetimes, but it seemed that it was to be his lot in life. Proud Nords always spoke of "Season Unending", a time of war. Indeed when he was a young man with fire in his veins the very idea of glorious battle was enough to set his pulse racing. But he was no longer a young man, and the fires of war had left him scarred and hardened.

Sensing that Ulfric was slipping into one of his occasional melancholic reveries, Galmar smiled and nodded.

"Aye. But in the meantime," he turned to leave the room, giving Alessia only the slightest of notice as he passed her, "we have a war to plan."

Feeling as if she were intruding, Alessia was about make her own hasty retreat from the Palace of the Kings for the safety of the inn she'd passed on her way through town when Ulfric's eyes finally landed on her.

"Only the foolish or the courageous approach a Jarl without summons," he said to her, watching for her reaction. Instead of muttering an apology or turning tail, the woman before him took another step forward and assumed the pose of an Imperial soldier at ease.

The more he studied her, the more certain he was that there was some military training there. The way in which she carried herself, the fact that she seemed to travel with the bare essentials, and even how she had placed certain items on her belt were dead giveaways. Ulfric had no doubt if he could see her upper arm that he would find the mark of the Imperial Legion tattooed there.

Alessia resisted the urge to squirm under the intense gaze of the Jarl. Whether that was from her years of military service or not, she couldn't quite say. Eventually Ulfric looked her in the eyes and only then was there the slightest hint or recognition there.

His eyes narrowed slightly, propped his chin on his knuckles and asked, "Do I know you?"

"I believe we've met before, Jarl Ulfric," Alessia said, hating the way her Imperial accent sounded so out of place in this Nord stronghold.

There was a momentary pause while Ulfric looked her over again and finally said, "Ah, yes, you were with us at Helgen." Giving her a crooked smile, he added, "Destined for the chopping block, if I'm not mistaken."

"Aye," she nodded, quickly dismissing the memories of coming within a hair's breadth of death. "Ralof and I managed to escape through the tunnels that run under Helgen."

"Ralof's a good man," the Jarl nodded thoughtfully. "However, he's failed to report in since Helgen."

Alessia's feet shuffled and her brow furrowed. This was inconvenient, at the very least.

"I see," she replied slowly. "He had promised to vouch for me."

At this, Ulfric's keen eye passed over the Imperial again before he dismissively waved in the direction of the war room.

"If you wish to join the Stormcloaks, speak to Galmar." His green eyes locked onto Alessia's as he coolly added, "I am uncertain as to why you would want to join us though, _Imperial_."

The way in which he sneered "Imperial" made Alessia wonder whether she'd done the right thing by coming here, but here she was and she now had to give an account of herself.

"Alessia, Jarl Ulfric. My name is Alessia Mercius."

"Alessia the Slave-Queen, who defeated the elves and set captives free," Ulfric snorted. "If I were superstitious, I might believe your arrival here to be a fortuitous omen. As it is, I've lived long enough to know better. So again I ask you _Saint Alessia_, why do you wish to fight for me?"

Ulfric's obvious disdain for her name rankled Alessia, but she did her best not to show it. She somehow doubted that if he knew about everything that had happened to her since leaving Helgen that he would remain so aloof towards her.

Risking raising the ire of the Jarl, Alessia said, "To be honest, I'm not sure I want to join the Stormcloaks, Jarl Ulfric."

Her voice had remained calm and even, without a trace of haughtiness, but Ulfric couldn't help but feel a sudden rush of anger at the Imperial. Undoubtedly she would back the Empire; Cyrodiil, the seat of the Empire, was her home after all. His right hand unwittingly curled into a tight fist and he sat up a little straighter on his throne.

"Then why have you travelled all this way, Imperial?" he growled at her. "Surely you haven't braved dragons just to mock me?"

"No, my Jarl," Alessia replied. "I have, and I mean no offense, come to take a measure of you for myself."

"And who are you to stand judgement over me!?" he practically shouted, drawing the attention of the nearby guards. Even Galmar had reappeared from the war room, one hand reaching for his war axe. If it hadn't been for a sharp look from Ulfric, he would have cut the impertinent Imperial down where she stood.

Still, even in the face of Ulfric's anger, Alessia did not shrink back.

"My lord, you still misunderstand me," she said, placatingly. "I, as you know, am not native to Skyrim. I have had precious little knowledge of what has been happening here up until a few weeks ago. In that time, I have heard people both praise and curse your name. To some you are a champion for the people of Skyrim, the one true High King. Others, however, say you are selfish to a fault, that you only care to advance your own cause and are willing to do so at any cost."

Ulfric's fist slammed down on the arm of his throne, cutting Alessia off. Her words had provoked a terrible rage in him. It was true that he'd heard these things before; they were far from being secret. Usually Ulfric would shrug off the disparaging and slanderous things that were said against him because how could anyone but he know what was in his heart of hearts?

But this... Imperial... standing here before him and daring to judge him was too much.

He raised an accusing finger and jabbed it in Alessia's direction, "Who are you to condemn my actions, _Imperial!? _Who are you to come before me and dare question my commitment to my people!? You impertinent, arrogant woman! I should strike you down where you stand!"

Ulfric's fury was bad enough, but the sound of swords being loosed from scabbards made it abundantly clear to Alessia that she was very close to a point of no return.

"Jarl Ulfric, you have nothing but my apologies for any offence I might have caused. I can only say that it was never my intention. I pray that you forgive me for my ignorance."

Through narrowed eyes, Ulfric studied the Imperial for a moment more, unwittingly grinding his teeth together as he considered his options. He could very easily give the order to have her thrown in the cells beneath the Palace of the Kings. Equally, he could have her beheaded and made an example to anyone else who might dare to openly doubt him. As it was, however, Ulfric's detractors certainly didn't need any more ammunition to use against him in their war of words; harshly punishing this Imperial woman would only play into their hands.

"Go from here, Imperial, and pray that we do not cross paths again," Ulfric finally growled at Alessia before motioning for his guards to come and escort her out.

Letting out a breath that she had been unaware of holding, Alessia mindlessly fell back on old military habits. Practically clicking her heels together, she placed a lightly clutched fist over her heart and bowed her head briefly.

"Again, you have my deepest apolog- oof!"

A Stormcloak cut her off by shoving her in the direction of the exit, making her stumble over her own two feet. Although a biting remark sprang to her lips, Alessia bit down on it knowing full well that it wouldn't work in her favour. Instead, she merely gave the guard a cool look, turned on her heel and did her best to retain some sort of dignity as she left.

She could feel the weight of Ulfric's glare on her back as she went and wanted nothing more than to scurry away, but fought the urge. Instead she calmly pulled the hood of her cloak up in preparation to head back out into the bitter cold of Windhelm.

There was a squeal of protest from the hinges of the heavy door as a guard pulled it open for Alessia. A frigid blast hit her sending a chill through her that made goose bumps rise all over her body. Pausing briefly, Alessia cast one final look over her shoulder and gave the glowering Ulfric a final nod before disappearing into a snowstorm that had descended upon Windhelm.

Once the door had shut behind the Imperial, Ulfric finally relaxed slightly and heavily sat on his throne. All around him guards went back to their usual posts, waiting and watching for whatever trouble may come next. For a few moments, Ulfric felt pleased with having ejected the woman from the palace, but the more he dwelled on it, the more it bothered him. Shifting uncomfortably on his throne, Ulfric could feel a splinter of irritation in his brain over the things this Alessia had said.

Finally unable to stand it, Ulfric rose and marched into the war room where Galmar stood talking with a Stormcloak courier, preparing to send out the newest dispatches for the troops nearest Whiterun. Ignoring them, Ulfric went to the map, leaning over it and studying it closely, his fingers idly drumming on the table as he thought things through.

"Go boy, and be quick," Galmar grunted to the courier. "And I don't care that nightfall is coming. If I hear word of you stopping by Candlehearth Hall before leaving Windhelm, I'll feed you to a bloody dragon myself!"

Without a word of argument, the courier muttered in the affirmative and quickstepped out of the war room leaving Galmar and Ulfric alone.

"The incident at Helgen..." Ulfric said quietly, a finger now tapping the location of the Winterhold Stormcloak camp.

"What of it?" Galmar asked, uncertain what his oldest friend might be thinking.

Again, Ulfric's finger slid over the map to the Windhelm camp and he said, "It was weeks ago now."

"So?" Galmar practically shrugged.

"I've not left Windhelm since my escape from General Tullius," Ulfric replied and lightly touched upon the marker for the Pale camp.

Galmar scowled, not quite liking where this was going.

"And in the time since you came back, the world has gone insane," Galmar grumbled and crossed his arms over his chest. "Dragons have returned, the Greybeards are calling for the Dragonborn, and the war with the Empire continues."

Galmar needn't tell Ulfric this; he knew it all very well. He'd seen the dragon at Helgen with his own two eyes. He'd felt the very ground shake at the call of the Greybeards. The war was rapidly turning into one of attrition, which Ulfric detested more than anything.

But the Imperial had brought home to Ulfric all the more that the people of Skyrim were still deciding where their loyalties were. Were they to continue as they were, letting the dying Empire rule over them or was it time to declare independence? The people needed to see that he was not the opportunistic murderer that the Empire made him out to be. They should be shown that he could be the High King that Skyrim required.

"Indeed," Ulfric nodded. "These are strange times we live in. And in such times, people need reassurances. They need to know that their leaders are not cowering behind thick walls, turning a blind eye. It is times like this that those who would lead should be doing just that - from the front and out in the open."

"So what are you suggesting?"

Looking up from the map, Ulfric said, "Prepare an honour guard. I want to tour the closest camps and take a measure of the mood of the troops. I've spent enough time here licking my wounds; it sends the wrong message to the people."

Satisfied with his course of action, Ulfric stood to his full height and a fearsome grin spread over his face.

"If the people of Skyrim want a High King, then let them see him! Let them see that I fight for them, Imperials be damned!"


	3. Chapter 2

_A/N: A very big thank you to anyone who has read my story so far. It's greatly appreciated and I would love to hear from you! I'd especially like to give an even bigger thank you to **Gotham's Prophet** for their kind reviews and encouragement. I've been struggling to write for so long and I finally feel like I'm moving on. If you've not done so, please take a look at their story The Devil You Know! It's incredibly well written with wonderful characters and I can't wait to see what happens next!_

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Bright drops of crimson blood fell on the fresh snow leaving a trail behind Alessia as she struggled onwards. Her jagged breaths plumed and misted in the freezing air and her teeth chattered miserably. Between the healing spell she'd used and the tourniquet she'd applied to her right leg Alessia had temporarily staunched the flow from the gash the sabre cat had given her. She wasn't fooling herself though. Her use of magic and healing arts were rudimentary at best and she knew that her chances of surviving were slim if didn't find help soon.

It had been so long since she'd earnestly prayed to the Nine, but considering how dire her situation was, she felt it probably wasn't a bad idea.

"F-father Akatosh... be my strength... when mine fails," she muttered under her breath and limped on.

After having insulted Ulfric, Alessia had decided that it would be best to leave Windhelm immediately, blizzard or no. His warning to her to hope that they never crossed paths again was a fairly stark one. She was in no doubt that should they ever meet, he wouldn't hesitate on making her regret it.

Instead of risking that encounter happening sooner than she cared for it to, she had quickly purchased some supplies to restock, took her horse from the stables, and headed back into the wilds of Skyrim. Nearly all of them questioned her sanity to go out with such a fearsome storm blowing. That had given her pause and she momentarily considered heading straight back to the safety of Whiterun, but when she thought about what awaited her, the idea really didn't seem that palatable.

"Arkay... h-help me to accept the number of days you have granted me."

After she had helped defeat the dragon at Whiterun's western watchtower, rumour and speculation about her being the Dovahkiin was rife. Everywhere she went in town she could feel people staring at her and heard their whispering. It even had started to happen when she was amongst the Companions, which seemed to sour Vilkas' attitude towards her even further. She wanted nothing more than to shout at them that she was _not _the Dragonborn and that whatever had happened that night surely had a reasonable explanation, although she was unable to offer one.

Then, as if to make matters worse, there were the thundering voices that shook the very ground calling, "DOVAHKIIN!"

Upon hearing the events of the evening, Jarl Balgruuf had pressed her to visit the Greybeards at High Hrothgar, saying that if they were calling for her, then it was urgent indeed. She simply argued that if they had wanted her, they should have shouted, "ALESSIA!" and that whoever this Dovahkiin was, it was certainly not her. The Jarl gave her a disappointed look, handed her a boon for helping deal with the dragon and sent her on her way.

"Dibella... let me see your beauty... all around me."

Deciding that she couldn't quite face the stares and rumours again, she had stayed out in the wilderness for a while to try and clear her head, consider things and decide upon a new course of action.

Soldiering had been the only thing she had known and was good at, but she had ruined her chances of joining the Stormcloaks, so that avenue was now closed to her. If she weren't already wanted by the Legion, she would happily return to them, but chances were they'd just summarily execute her. That left her with mercenary work, which seemed to be in abundance in Skyrim. In fact, if she weren't so busy running from what she feared in her heart of hearts to be true, she'd return to Whiterun and properly join the Companions. At the very least the Companions seemed to have a sense of honour to them or at least were good at putting up a front.

Of course, she could always take a ship to High Rock and escape Skyrim altogether, but passage would be expensive and she barely had two Septims to rub together at the moment. And as much as she would love to, returning to Cyrodiil was certainly out of the question. Even if she could, there was nothing for her to go home to now. For the time being, it seemed that Alessia was stuck in Skyrim and she just had to accept it and make the best of it.

The realization that she may never see Cyrodiil again made homesickness settle in her chest, weighing her down even more. As an Imperial soldier she'd spent a large part of her life away from home, so it wasn't a feeling she was unfamiliar with. Right now though, she'd give anything to go back in time so she could be in the foothills of the Jeralls, tucked up safely in her aunt's home.

Tears blurred Alessia's vision at the thought and in a broken voice she said, "Mara... preserve the peace and security of home and family."

It had been nearly a fortnight since Alessia left Windhelm now and in that time she had relied upon the survival training she'd received from the Legion. She'd been drifting from place to place, avoiding large settlements and remaining solitary, but it had started to wear on her. And while Alessia had been used to living rough, even she occasionally liked to have a warm bath, hot meal and a soft bed. Eventually the idea of the creature comforts of civilization proved too much of a draw to her and she'd turned her horse in the direction of Whiterun late one afternoon. It seemed, however, that almost as soon as she decided to head back, things started to take a turn for the worse.

Alessia was not terribly familiar with Skyrim's sometimes fickle weather. While the initial storm that had hit Windhelm released its grip three days later, she'd been ignorant to the fact that this was just the precursor to something far worse. Seemingly out of nowhere, the wind blew in a gale from the north bringing with it heavy, unrelenting snow.

Even with all her layers of leather and fur, Alessia knew she had to find shelter as she could feel her strength being sapped the longer she was out in the storm. Eventually, she set up her small tent in the cleft of a rocky outcropping although it was far from ideal, but she reminded herself that it would be better than freezing to death.

In spite of the biting cold and wind, Alessia foraged for wood until she'd been able to make a fire. Her stiff, numb fingers worked with kindling and flint to defy the elements. At first there was a thin trail of smoke and with gentle coaxing, it wasn't long before Alessia had a decent fire. Not that it really helped much. The fearsome wind seemed to just tear away any warmth that the fire might provide, making the flames gutter and threatened to put it out altogether.

In fact, the fire had eventually been her downfall.

Desperately tired, Alessia had accidentally drifted off to sleep. Without her constant supervision, the wind finally prevailed and claimed her fire. Now with the fire out, the sabre cat that had been lurking around the edges of her camp grew bold and attacked, frightening her horse and sending it careening off into the woods. The horse's terrified whinnies had been what made Alessia snap to, but the cold had robbed her of any sense or agility. By the time she'd managed to grasp her sword, it was too late. The cat had lashed out, its razor sharp claws tearing her thigh to ribbons and knocking Alessia into the snow.

After a life and death struggle, Alessia managed to kick out at the sabre cat, throwing it back far enough to give her the chance to ready her weapon. No sooner had she got it into position than the cat leapt for her again, letting out a bloodcurdling roar. In its rage and desire for a fresh kill, it managed to impale itself on her sword. Mustering all the strength she could, Alessia heaved upwards, plunging the sword deep into the sabre cat's heart. Blood flowed freely, covering the Imperial and the sabre cat weakly lunged for Alessia's face a few times before it finally succumbed and became a dead weight on top of her.

Breathless and trembling with adrenaline and fear, Alessia remained where she was for a while if for no other reason than the cat was warm, but knew she had no choice but to move. With few mighty heaves, she'd rolled the body off to the side and freed herself only to realize the extent of her injury.

The sabre cat's claws had gone deep, easily slicing through the heavy leather of her trousers and mangling flesh and muscle. Her blood welled in the gaping wound before spilling over. At first Alessia was shocked at what she saw and stared at it dumbly, but then panic had started to set in. She was miles from the nearest settlement and the horse had disappeared into the woods with most of her things, including her healing supplies.

Swearing at her misfortune, Alessia pulled her sword from the dead sabre cat and cut strips of cloth from her tent that she wrapped and tied around her leg. Using a small stick, she twisted the tourniquet tighter and tighter until the blood slowed to a trickle. Taking a few slow, deep breaths, Alessia tried to calm herself so she could hastily cast a healing spell, although it did little more than make it look less ragged around the edges than it did before.

That had been an hour ago now and between the mental confusion caused by cold and blood loss and the driving snow, Alessia was hopelessly lost in the forest. Occasionally she would stop and call out for help, but her voice only sounded weak and muffled. Besides, she knew that with her luck it would probably only draw the attention of bandits or other wild animals that would love to kill her and pick her bones clean.

"S-stendarr," Alessia began a prayer to the patron of the Legion, but tripped over some tree roots hidden beneath the snow and fell face first into a drift. Panting and exhausted, she curled up into a ball and cried. It was so tempting just to give up, to just lay here and let the cold finish her off. She had heard that dying from hypothermia actually wasn't that bad and that in the end it ironically felt like slipping into a warm bath.

But Alessia had never been a quitter and wasn't about to start now.

A small voice somewhere in the back of her mind whispered to her, urging her forward and gradually Alessia got onto her hands and knees and crawled on in fits and starts.

Gritting her teeth, she cried out, "Talos, guide me! Show me my path!"

No sooner had the words left her mouth than the wind died down and everything grew eerily quiet and still, the only thing that could be heard was Alessia's ragged breathing. For a moment Alessia held on to the vain hope that perhaps Talos was about to answer her prayer in some awesome and dramatic way and pulled herself onto her feet, holding on for dear life to the nearest pine tree. Minutes passed and Alessia's expectations continued to rise until gradually the wind changed directions. It continued to pick up speed until it was back to howling through the branches and blowing in her face.

Disheartened, Alessia sagged against the tree, sliding down into the snow. She was alone and abandoned in this place and here she would die.

Or so she thought until she heard what sounded like the clash of swords in the distance, carried to her on the wind.

Squinting against the snow and wind, Alessia's eyes watered and tears froze on her cheeks. Just ahead of her she was certain that she'd seen dark shapes moving about in the snowy haze. Then she caught the sharp smell of smoke, beckoning to her with the promise of warmth, of life.

"H-hello?" she called, but the wind tore her words away.

Clinging to a glimmer of hope that she hadn't been imagining things, Alessia fought against the weariness and agony she felt and battled through the snow. Every step took a supreme amount of effort on her part, but still she carried on. With every step, the sounds of metal on metal grew louder, the smell of smoke grew stronger and now carried the scent of roasting meat, and the vague shapes were definitely people.

Afraid that she might be stumbling into a bandit camp, Alessia drew her sword, but with all her strength gone she merely dragged it along beside her. Stumbling along through the trees, she suddenly found herself in a clearing where a group of Stormcloak soldiers were training. Her unannounced appearance had initially startled them and they stopped to stare at her, but the shock wore off quickly and all of them stood at the ready, waiting for whatever this strange, bloodstained woman might do.

Lost for words, Alessia shuffled forward and the Stormcloaks advanced menacingly.

"STOP!" someone shouted in the distance and started running in Alessia's direction. "For the love of Talos, stop! Stand down!"

The Stormcloaks looked at each other questioningly but eventually lowered their swords. However they still closed ranks, blocking Alessia's path and their tense stances made it clear that they wouldn't hesitate to act if need be.

"Do you think that's a good idea, Ralof?" one of the soldiers asked, nervously eyeing Alessia. "What if it's a trap?"

"Don't be so ridiculous," Ralof sneered and pushed past. "Are you so afraid of a single, injured woman, Harald?"

Alessia, feeling the last of her strength drain away, dropped her sword. Her knees buckled, but before she found herself face down in the snow again, she was caught by Ralof.

"Whoa, sister," he said and propped her up. "You look far worse than when we left Helgen!"

There was a hushed murmur between the Stormcloaks; all of them had heard about what had happened there and about Ralof's close call.

The deathly pallor of Alessia's skin and the blank look she gave him concerned Ralof, but suddenly there was recognition followed by a thin smile.

"Ralof..." she whispered and heavily leaned against him, her head lolling onto her chest.

"That's right," he said, a worried frown settling over his features. Quickly he scooped her up and made his way to the healer's tent, shoving his way through the others.

"How about we get that leg taken care of, hey?" he asked her, but there was no reply.

Alessia had finally given out.


	4. Chapter 3

A new day was breaking over Skyrim and skies that had been shrouded in thick clouds for days finally cleared. The sun rising over the eastern horizon had turned it a rosy golden colour and almost seemed to hold some secret promise for those who would seek it. For many across the land, they greeted the dawn with busyness and prepared for the day's work. Farmers milked cows, bakers leavened bread, shop and stall owners opened their businesses.

It was no different for those in the numerous military camps nestled in forests, valleys and hills – be they Stormcloak or Imperial.

Soldiers crawled out of their bedrolls, doing their best to ignore the chill that had settled in their bones overnight, splashed their faces with icy water and put on their armour. A blacksmith repaired armour and weaponry, the beat of his hammer steady and true as it hit the anvil and rang out over the camp. Horses snorted and nickered softly as they received their morning feed. The smell of campfire smoke and breakfast being prepared happily mingled in the frosty morning air.

Lingering somewhere between wakefulness and dreaming, Alessia started to stir and gradually became aware of the sounds of camp life around her. The hustle and bustle she heard was comfortingly familiar and it transported her back to a far simpler and happier time. Burrowing under her blankets, she fell into old habits and mentally started running through her morning routine.

_Have a wash, check my armour and weapons over and get kitted out, breakfast... _

The list went on and eventually she opened her eyes, ready to start her day. She was about to jokingly comment to her long time tent mates that it was colder than a witch's tit in the middle of winter, but snapped her mouth shut when she discovered that she was surrounded by injured Stormcloaks instead.

Initial confusion gave way to disappointment and she flopped back onto her cot, staring blankly up at the tent above her. The nagging ache she felt from her injured leg helped her to ignore the heaviness in her heart and the lump in her throat. She initially gave into self-pity, wallowing in it for a while before becoming disgusted with herself. Deciding that it did no good to let wishful thinking get the better of her, Alessia swallowed hard, pushed all of it aside and tried to recall exactly how she'd come to be here. She could remember being attacked by the sabre cat then struggling through the snow. There also was a vague recollection of seeing Ralof (although she was certain that was a dream), but beyond that her memory was nothing more than a haze.

As she lay there, the breeze carried the scent of food to her causing her stomach to involuntarily growl loudly, making her acutely aware of just how hungry she felt. Scowling, Alessia's tongue tried to slick over her dry, cracked lips but it felt furry and sticky and her parched throat was sore.

Smacking her mouth, she started to wonder how many days she'd been unconscious and felt around for her waterskin, but came up empty. Now growing irritated, she sat up a bit to look for it, although it was nowhere to be found. Looking beyond the tent flaps, she spied a bucket with a ladle just outside the tent and watched while a Stormcloak dipped the ladle and brought it to his lips to slurp down a mouthful of water.

Watching the soldier made Alessia feel as if she had an itch she couldn't scratch and so she slowly sat up, pushing through the dizziness she felt, and eventually placed her feet on the ground. Bracing herself against the cot, she caught her breath before trying to stand. She'd barely managed to lift herself a few inches off the cot before the muscles in her legs quivered and gave out beneath her.

"Damn it!" she sharply hissed as she landed heavily on the cot and impotently punched at it. She felt disgusted at how weak she felt at the moment, but was determined not to give up yet.

Glowering at the bucket for taunting her with its promise of cool refreshment, Alessia made another attempt at heaving herself off the cot and to her feet. Wobbling and unsteady as a newborn colt, she finally made it, although she daren't try to move any further. The slight tremor she'd felt in her legs had turned into full blown shakes and threatened to betray her and send her sprawling to the ground. Cautiously she took a shuffling step forward, her injured leg painfully protesting at having any weight put on it.

At this point, however, she was so desperately thirsty that if she fell, she didn't care. She would crawl to the damned water bucket if she had to.

It wasn't until she'd managed to leave the tent that anyone seemed to notice her at all. Around her she saw several of the Stormcloaks eyeing her suspiciously, although some were a little more open about their disdain for her. As she passed by, they would spit on the ground and growl, "Damned Imperials." It was very tempting to let them all know that she held no love for the Empire herself, but she suspected trying to do so would probably be about as successful as her visit with Ulfric had been. Instead of offering any excuses or explanations to them, she did her best to ignore them, fixing her attention on her goal of getting a drink.

"Ah! You're awake!" said a familiar voice in her ear, making her jump. Quickly turning she found Ralof there, grinning at her. The movement was too much too fast though, and Alessia was overtaken by another wave of dizziness that nearly brought her to her knees.

Once more Ralof caught her, wrapping a strong arm around her back and she in turn hitched her arm around his shoulders and clung to him.

"You're going to have to stop coming to my rescue, Ralof. I don't like playing the damsel in distress," she half-seriously drawled. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate the help, but she felt indebted to Ralof now and had no idea how she would ever repay him.

"I don't remember too many stories where the damsel was wearing dirty, tattered armour. I'll be certain to get you a fine gown to wear for next time," Ralof said with a smirk before chuckling at the filthy look Alessia shot him. Adjusting his grip on her, and still laughing, he said, "C'mon. I suppose you'll be wanting something to eat and drink by now."

Ralof started to steer her in the direction of the cook's fire, taking his time to allow for her injured leg. He pointedly ignored the strange looks they received, not really caring one whit what they thought about the Imperial. As far as Ralof was concerned, she'd more than proved herself when they escaped Helgen together. Alessia had fought bravely with him, back to back and never faltering.

His admiration of her only increased once they'd arrived in Riverwood. It would have been easy for her to hide away in Gerdur and Hod's house until it was safe to go on her way, but she hadn't. Instead she graciously helped some of the residents of the village, practically refusing to accept any reward for her work, before volunteering to speak to Jarl Balgruuf about possible aid and protection should there be a dragon attack.

"How long was I out?" Alessia asked, grunting in pain as Ralof helped lower her onto a log that was being used as a makeshift bench. She hissed while stretching out her leg and gingerly touched the place on her thigh where the cat had clawed her, her fingers tracing over the new stitches in her trousers.

"Eh... you were out for three days," he replied while ladling stew into a wooden trencher. Now breaking a loaf of bread, he nodded at her injury and said, "I had the smith patch up your leathers while you were asleep. Hope you don't mind." Placing a chunk of bread on the trencher, he handed it to her, "To be honest, we didn't know if you'd make it or not. You stumbled into camp pale as a ghost, half-frozen and bleeding like a stuck pig."

Driven by her hunger, Alessia grabbed the plate from Ralof and started to devour the thick stew, shovelling it in as fast as she could. It was greasy, over salted and she had no idea what kind of meat was in it, but she didn't care. With every bite she made small sounds of pleasure and was certain that no meal had ever tasted so wonderful to her in all her days.

Ralof shook his head, once more chuckling at her, and handed her a waterskin, "Here sister, you'll want something to wash it down with."

"Mrphf!" was Alessia's delighted, muffled reply and she snatched the water from Ralof, pulled the stopper out with her teeth and greedily guzzled, stopping only when she choked on it. Spluttering and coughing, she covered her mouth and croaked, "Sorry, sorry! You must think my manners are atrocious!"

Catching Ralof off guard with her comment, he stared at her for a moment before breaking out in raucous laughter and slapping her hard on the back, making her wince.

"Look around you 'lessia! This isn't one of your fancy Imperial City dinners, if you hadn't noticed!" Gently shoving her, he said, "Go on, get it down you girl."

Not needing to be told twice, Alessia dug in again, mopping up some of the stew with the bread and shoving it into her mouth.

Ralof watched her in silence, his smile fading, before he finally spoke again.

"Maybe when you're done, you can tell me why in Oblivion you were out wandering in a damned blizzard." Ralof said, all traces of humour now gone from his voice.

Her eyes flicked up briefly from the trencher before she hunkered down over it and shrugged. "Just felt like it," she mumbled through the mouthful of bread she'd just bitten off.

Not satisfied, Ralof's brows furrowed and he continued to press her for more information.

"I went to Whiterun hoping to see you before reporting for duty, but you weren't there. Everyone in the Bannered Mare was talking about the Imperial who helped bring down the dragon, though." Leaning in, he lowered his voice and said, "They're all saying this Imperial is the Dovahkiin. And they also said that she up and left town weeks ago with nary a word to anyone! Is that true?"

Surprised by how much Ralof knew, Alessia started to slowly chew her food and set the trencher down, pushing it away from her. The thought of what happened that night at the watchtower made her stomach churn nervously. She was still in denial about it all. Fear and reluctance to accept the implications of what being the Dragonborn might be meant that she had been running from it ever since.

Finally looking at Ralof out of the corner of her eye, Alessia let out a weary breath and shook her head, "So they're still going on about it? By the nine... You'd think they didn't have anything better to do!" She took a swig from the waterskin and tried to affect nonchalance. "You know what it's like with rumours. They get bigger every damned time someone tells the story. Everyone was running around like headless chickens and scared witless. When people get like that, they see things."

"And I guess they hear things too?" Ralof pointedly asked. "I suppose everyone all over Skyrim, including me, imagined hearing the Greybeards calling for the Dovahkiin, then?"

"What do you want me to say?" she snapped at him, uncomfortable with this line of questioning. "I'm _not_ this bloody Dovahkiin, alright? All I am is a soldier... a _former _soldier... who got caught up in things she didn't understand."

"Fine. If that's what you say, fine," Ralof returned, throwing his hands up in aggravation. Frustrated and fed up with Alessia's dodging him, Ralof ran a hand through his hair and decided to change the subject. "So where have you been the past few weeks? No one seemed to have an idea where you disappeared to. Did you even go to Windhelm?"

Again, he could see her bristle and he suspected that if her leg weren't so sore and stiff, she would have bolted long before now. It seemed so unlike the woman he'd come to know in the days following Helgen. That Alessia had been warm and open, and almost friendly to a fault once the initial shock of their narrow escape had worn off. Now she seemed to have been doing her dead level best to isolate herself from everyone.

"I went to Windhelm," she reluctantly admitted and quickly interjected when she saw the excited look on Ralof's face, "and it went... badly."

Ralof stared at her incredulously, not quite believing what he was hearing.

"What? Why?" he asked rather ineloquently.

Trying to act indifferent about it, Alessia idly played with some of the buckles of her armour and shrugged, "Before I committed myself to the Stormcloaks, I just wanted to ask a few questions."

"You what? By Shor's bones, woman!" Ralof suddenly explained and scrubbed a hand over his face. "Don't tell me you went in there with that high and mighty attitude you Imperials like to lord over everyone!"

The accusation stung her and she glared at Ralof. She'd felt certain that she'd done nothing but show Ulfric the utmost respect.

"Damn it Ralof, give me some credit! Is it so wrong that I wanted to know more about the man whose banner and cause I might take up? Can you blame? Between me being unconscious most of the cart ride to Helgen, Ulfric being gagged, and the not so trivial matter of the dragon attack, it's hardly surprising that proper introductions weren't made that day!"

He had to grudgingly admit that she was partially right. Helgen had been terrifying and chaotic with little time to do more than simply run for their lives.

"So what did you ask him?" Ralof asked while tearing a chunk from the bread Alessia had abandoned and popped it into his mouth.

"I simply told him that I wished to take a measure of him for myself since I'd heard so many conflicting stories. I said that some called him a hero while others believed him a traitor to Skyrim and its people," she said with another shrug. "I also said that I wasn't sure whether I really wanted to join the Stormcloaks or not."

"By Talos, woman!" Ralof swore quietly while shaking his head. "You're damned lucky you walked out of there! You know that, right? What on earth possessed you to go in there and spout off the shit you've heard in the taverns, hey?"

Alessia's expression turned sour and she said, "Oh please, Ralof! Like you've not heard the gossip as well!"

"Oh, aye, I've heard it," Ralof nodded vehemently. "Difference is I know the man. I'm part of his honour guard and have been since nearly the start of the war. I've spent time with him and damn it, he's not doing it for power and glory. I've seen him agonize over sending men into battle. And I've seen him mourn for those who don't return."

For a long moment, Alessia and Ralof's eyes locked before she finally arrogantly sniffed, "You should have bloody said sooner."

"You should have bloody asked," Ralof sneered.

With that, Alessia started trying to get to her feet, but she was still weak from her injuries. Frustrated she snapped, "Help me up!"

"And just where do you think you're going?" Ralof asked, refusing to lift a finger for the uppity Imperial.

"I'm going back to Whiterun!" she barked and made another clumsy attempt at standing before finally managing it. "I'm going back and I'm going to join the Companions!"

"You? A sell-sword!" Ralof exclaimed before letting out a barking laugh which only seemed to further aggravate Alessia.

"Where are my things?" she demanded and started to hobble off, doing her best to act as if she were back to normal and that her leg wasn't excruciating her with every step.

Following after her, Ralof shook his head in disgust and exasperation. He had to give it to her that she was determined, but determination alone wouldn't get her back to Whiterun. Knowing he had to stop her before she could get too far, Ralof suddenly grabbed her shoulders and brought his knee up sharply against her injury and dead legged her.

"What the..." was all she managed to say before pain exploded through her thigh and leg and brought Alessia to her knees. Drawing in a sharp breath, she held it for a moment before shouting at Ralof, "You son of a bitch!"

"Yes, well, I am," Ralof said, ignoring the insult with a shrug of his broad shoulders. Jabbing a finger at her he pointedly said, "And you, sister, are being a damned proud fool. Just tell me how you were going to get back to Whiterun, hmm?"

Heavily sitting down in the dirt, Alessia straightened out her legs in front of her, wincing as she did so. "That was a dirty trick, Ralof," she grumbled and wiped away the tears that had welled in her eyes. In all truth, under different circumstances she probably could have appreciated what he'd done, especially if he had done it to anyone else but her, but for now she was too busy being angry at him.

Again, he brushed off what she said and asked again, "How were you getting to Whiterun?"

Scowling down at her leg and rubbing at it pitifully, she snarled, "I was going to walk."

"Walk, eh?" Picking up a stick, he prodded at her injury. Not hard, but enough to prove a point. She tried to hide that was hurting her, but the way her jaw kept twitching with each jab let Ralof know he was getting through to her. "And what were you going to do if you were attacked by bandits or another sabre cat or, gods forbid it, a dragon?"

"Stop that!" she ordered, grabbed the stick, broke it and threw it in the fire. "You're lucky that I'm not up to scratch. Otherwise I would have shoved that stick up your arse!"

"Ah, so you finally admit it!" Ralof exclaimed with a triumphant gleam in his eye.

"I..." Alessia sighed and slumped despondently. She couldn't deny it because it was true. If merely walking a few steps exhausted her, she had no hope of ever reaching Whiterun. "Damn it," she whispered.

Offering her his hand, Ralof said, "Come with me, 'lessia."

Her eyes flicked between his outstretched hand and his face a few times before she took hold. Ralof hoisted to her feet and once more played the role of crutch for Alessia and guided her in the direction of the horses that were tied up nearby. While passing a group of soldiers that were standing around, he ordered them to prepare two horses and to make sure that the Imperial's belongings were packed before they departed. Without hesitation the soldiers snapped to and went about their work.

"Are you going to take me back to Whiterun?" she asked hopefully.

"By the gods, no!" Ralof laughed with a shake of his head. "I'd be doing you a disservice if I did that. I've seen you fight and I know you're far too good for mercenary work."

Ralof let go of Alessia and she leaned against one of the horses while Ralof readied it for her to ride. She stroked the shaggy fur of the sturdy mare, briefly wondering what became of the old nag that had run off in the woods, and asked, "So where in Oblivion are you taking me?"

"I've been called to our camp in the Pale. They're down a man in the honour guard." Ralof grabbed hold of Alessia's waist to lift her onto the horse when he added, "And while we're there we're going to sort out your little... misunderstanding with Ulfric."

Alessia's eyes went wide and she struggled against Ralof before finally pulling free.

"No we're not!" Alessia vehemently exclaimed. "He outright said that I should pray that we never cross paths again and I have no intention of testing him on this!"

"Oh, you really must have made an impression on him!" Ralof chortled. "You see, there's one other thing about Ulfric... He can be a damned proud fool at times... just like you! Now get on the damned horse!"

For a few moments, Alessia stood there glowering at him before finally shaking her head and relenting.

"Fine!" she said, throwing her hands up in defeat. "This is such a terrible idea, Ralof!"

"You worry too much, Imperial," Ralof teased while hoisting her onto the horse. Once she was seated and ready to go, he climbed onto his own horse and said, "Things will be different this time. You'll have me there to keep you from making an arse of yourself!"

Before Alessia could make a retort, Ralof had dug his heels into the side of his horse, dashing off with a whoop.

"I hope you're right, you son of a bitch," Alessia muttered before following suit and chasing after Ralof.


End file.
